I’ve told bartenders more truth
than lovers.
They never judge.
Just pour.
No promises.
No expectations.
Just a nod,
a refill,
a silence that doesn’t ask questions.
He knew my mother drank vodka
because I once cried into my second one.
He knew I hated birthdays,
but still slid me a shot
on the day I showed up
wearing red lipstick like armor.
I never told him my name.
He never asked.
We didn’t need names
to understand the shape of grief.
Eventually, we became more—
friends, bedfellows.
He warned me who to avoid.
He watched my body and my drinks.
I felt safe with him.
Some nights,
my mouth couldn’t form the words,
but he always seemed to know
when to make it a double.
And when to slide me a water
even though I didn't ask for it.
And isn’t that love,
in its own way?
To be seen—
not solved.
To be heard—
without having to explain.
Heather Kays is a St. Louis-based poet and author passionate about writing since age 7. Her memoir, Pieces of Us, dissects her mother’s struggles with alcoholism and addiction. Her YA novel, Lila’s Letters, focuses on healing through unsent letters. She runs The Alchemists, an online writing group, and enjoys discussing creativity and complex narratives.
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